Tulle Death Do Us Part (23 page)

I shrugged and nodded. “You know the rest.”

Werner looked from one of us to the other. “We will, in future, discuss your antics of this night in depth,” he said.

Not if I could distract him. “Go on,” I said as we reached his car. “Where did you find the victim? I need names, details.”

“We found him on the floor beside a broken ceiling beam attached to a chunk of ceiling with a noose around his neck. Preliminary exam shows that he died before the noose was slipped around his neck.”

He? I shivered. “How’d he die?”

“Blunt force trauma to the head.”

“It would have taken someone strong to lift a dead weight and slip a noose around it,” I said. “And you haven’t told us who it was or what the suicide note said.”

“Wayne O’Dowd died in that brick hellhole tonight, a printed confession clenched in his cold, dead hand.”

“That’s suspicious,” I said.

“It’s printed with his printer. Here’s something equally suspicious. On his computer screen at home is a blog entry. He was the Mystick Falls Masque.”

“Ohhh,” I said. “Trying to get justice for his sister’s death. That makes so much sense.”

“You would think so, but the note said
he
took his sister, Robin, out on the
Yacht Sea
and threw her overboard for her inheritance.”

I gasped. “That note lies!”

“I personally think so, too, and we don’t know if Wayne or his murderer wrote his last blog entry, but it said the investigation was at an end. The Phantom Masque signed it ‘Over and out.’”

“Dead out,” Eve said.

We drove in silence for a bit, my mind running a marathon, Werner sitting beside me in the backseat, Eve up front with Billings. “Detective,” I said, “who on the old police report is recorded as having said they were with Robin when the rogue wave took her?” I asked. “Who’s telling the truth? Any of them, or not even the suicide note?”

“My guess is, none of them.” He handed me the rolled-up morning paper from his pocket.

I opened it and gasped: “Zavier McDowell arrested for 1973 death of Robin O’Dowd.”

“You arrested Zavier?”

“He confessed, Mad.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I wanted to, for all the wrong reasons, but I was up to
my neck in paperwork until the call on Eve’s car came in. Then we found a dead body in the same vicinity, which made finding you two my top priority.” He grabbed me around the neck and pulled me against him, his kiss a testament to his worry. I reveled in it and gave as good as I got.

At a light, Eve fake gagged. “Cut it out!”

“I thought you hated Nick, not Werner.”

“Nick left you too often. Werner demonstrates his affection too often.”

“You’re jealous,” I said on a chuckle.

I nearly pulled away from Werner’s hold, until I realized he’d been more than a little worried; more anxious than any detective should be when searching for a possible second body.

“I don’t know who leaked Zavier’s confession to the press,” Werner said, finally letting go, “but Councilman McDowell and his lawyer were there, and they brought a couple of doctors and his live-in nurse to say Zavier couldn’t have done it. Then the poor man ups and says he did.”

I read the short article, zeroing in on pertinent details. “‘Robin O’Dowd’s 1973 death was reopened this week in the wake of newly unearthed evidence…No additional details provided…Detective Lytton Werner declined comment’…yada yada yada. ‘Anyone with information about the case is being asked to contact the Mystick Falls Police Department.’”

“It’s nothing but a puff piece,” Werner said.

“Enough to do Zavier some damage,” I said. “Tell me he’s not in jail.”

“Right now he’s refusing bail.”

My head came up. “Well, there’s got to be a story there, but at least he’s safe.” I released a breath. “Now, with Wayne’s confession, we have
two
killers?”

“And two deaths,” Eve said. “But one solved.”

“If we believe Wayne’s confession,” I added.

“As I see it, we’re back where we started,” Werner said. “Robin O’Dowd’s death is as much of a mystery as ever. The confessions cancel each other out, along with the original conclusion. Hey, what were you two doing down at the docks? That car wasn’t parked anywhere near the
Yacht C
.”

Eve squeaked, the brat, at about the same time her mother and my parents flew out my father’s front door.

I was smothered in hugs and love, all of us swallowing convulsively. I had been scared, both at the mill and on the boat last night, plus my nips were practically raw from wearing a sandpaper suit without a bra. And every hug made it worse.

Aunt Fee threw her arms around Werner. His stern expression dissolved as he looked at me over her shoulder, almost calf-eyed. He stepped from Fee’s embrace and hugged my shoulder, pulling me against his like a big brother, but I melted into his arms.

For half a beat, he held me like I was his, until his eyes met my dad’s, and he offered my father his hand. “Sir, may I have your permission to love your daughter?”

Had Werner’s voice cracked? Who knew? At my dad’s stupefied nod, he kissed me quick and hard, got in the patrol car, and Billings drove him away.

That started everyone on a string of questions.

“Aunt Fee, can you get me a paper bag to hold the contents of this stinky bag so I can throw it away out here?”

“I’ll do it,” Aunt Fee said. “You two run up and take a shower.”

Eve hesitated. “Mom?”

“She’s staying until you’re warm and dressed in your own clothes,” Aunt Fee said, and Mrs. Meyers nodded and took Eve’s hand to go inside.

The two of us ran up to take our respective showers. I felt like nothing would erase the fish smell. I chose my most strongly scented hair products, soaps, and creams and blew my nose about ten times, then I found the silkiest padded bra I could find—after I’d moisturized.

When I got into my room, Aunt Fiona had transferred the makeshift weapons and wrapped treasures from the stinky liquor bag I left outside into a reusable grocery bag. “I won’t even ask,” she said, opening her arms to me.

Stupid me. When I stepped into her embrace, I burst into tears.

“Mom came to our rescue,” I confessed. “We followed the scent of chocolate to safety.”

“Don’t tell your father you had such a close call.”

“I know. Thanks for being here so I can tell you.”

“Get dressed and come down. Brunch is waiting. Mrs. Meyers and I went a bit overboard, and your father needs a good long hug himself. And we want to know when you admitted to yourself that you’re in love with Detective Werner. We’ve known for ages.” She touched the piece of drainpipe on my nightstand, shook her head, and left.

Funny thing happened when I picked up the drainpipe I’d stolen from Bradenton Cove to put it away before anyone else saw it: I noticed that it seemed weighted. I mean, I
held it at one end, and the opposite end fell, like it was heavier. I balanced it with my hands a distance apart and saw I was right.

Werner had held it by only one end, probably the heavy end, and had uncapped it that way, at the light end.

Determined to discover the weight discrepancy, I used the claws of the hammer in the grocery bag, one of my weapons of choice for the evening, to uncap the heavy end. No easy feat, but I did it. Then I put on a pair of gloves to handle whatever I found inside.

Nothing fell out of the uncapped end, but I flashed a light inside and it was packed so tight, it wouldn’t have jiggled for anyone. It certainly didn’t budge for me.

I tugged on the wrapping, and it tore. Tissue paper. I tore at that paper until I got the first piece out. A gold locket with a letter R on it, with a picture of a man and woman inside. Rather damning evidence, considering. Next, I pried out a man’s ring with a brick of a diamond in it, five carats, maybe. I checked the inside of the band. No initials, but 24K. Next I found an emerald art deco pendant that my mother would have adored, a purse-size Lalique perfume bottle, probably worth a fortune because of its size. Last, an antique pocket watch with all kinds of compartments and dials. If Zavier had scavenged all this, he’d been right, he might have won, if…Robin had cooperated?

Speculation, I told myself. Nothing more. Besides, Zavier’s brother, Councilman Eric McDowell, had also been there. He could as easily have hidden these pieces with their Day’s—read Dad’s—cars.

I put everything in a bottom drawer for later, when I’d
have a chance to dig inside the stair pipe Eve had found, and if I found more treasure there, I’d give it all to Werner at the same time.

He now knew about my psychometric gift. Heck, he now knew all the intimate little details about me.

The couple that sleuths together, stays together. Or not?

My first fitting for
This Is Your Life
had been scheduled for the next morning.

“Mr. Jay Gilchrist?” I asked when he stepped into the shop, much too young to have worn the airman’s uniform to the country club’s fiftieth.

The man who saluted wore stonewashed jeans, a scruffy pair of regulation gunboots, and a high-quality camouflage T-shirt.

I saluted back. “At ease.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Habit, when my name is called.”

I led him toward the dressing room. “I’m glad there are no half-dressed women in and out of the stalls.”

“Yes, ma’am. I guess you don’t get too many men in here.”

“More than you think. I suppose I should have had separate dressing rooms built, but I do have a bathroom. Men
usually try things on in there. Except that I need the riser and the three-way mirrors to do a fitting. Are you in the service, too?”